


If You're Gonna Break My Heart (Do It In Two)

by geckoholic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Case, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Ethical Dilemmas, Hand Jobs, Held Down, M/M, Power Play, Reunion Sex, temporary break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: A few years after Jason's resurrection and return to Gotham, Dick and Jason have settled into an undefined but mostly happy relationship. That gets shaken up when the killer in a difficult case from Jason's days as Robin escapes from prison. It will take them a few months and an alien invasion to sort out the fallout from the decisions both of them make that day.





	1. DICK

**Author's Note:**

> Comes with cover graphics by emmatheslayer: [HERE](https://emmatheslayer.livejournal.com/542324.html). Please give it a look! Another art link to come, so please check back for it soon. :D
> 
> Beta-read by volavi and beta-lactamase. Thank you both!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Plot Twist" by Sigrid.

Jason does his best to be quiet, Dick can tell, but he still wakes up the second the door lock is turned. Not Jason's fault, really – anyone else would have kept right on with their peaceful slumber, except those who spent their adolescent years vigilante-ing around Gotham at night and being taught how to pick any mechanic lock know to man by day, also learning how to distinguish them by the unique clicking sounds they make. 

And so Dick sits up in bed and listens to Jason tip-toeing his way through the apartment, listens to the sound of the shower being turned on, to its prattle, and to Jason's footsteps, slightly different now that he's barefoot. The door opens and Dick feels like a teenager, giddiness sparking in his belly at knowing his boyfriend is back home.

Jason doesn’t even bother turning the light on, just tumbles into bed beside Dick, onto his stomach, a perfect faceplant. He’s naked, must have left his clothes in the hamper after a shower, might have been too lazy to put on a fresh pair of boxers from his designated drawer in Dick’s dresser. But it stokes Dick's almost juvenile excitement, anyway, to know that Jason isn't wearing a stitch anymore. That he's _here_ again, nude and available, all of him Dick's to touch if he so chooses. 

“I hate jungle missions”, Jason says, head turning in Dick's direction but voice still muffled by the pillow. “Too much sweating, too many mosquitoes.” He scratches his arm, like he’s suddenly itching all over again just from mentioning the little pests.

“You always say that,” Dick replies. He reaches out to brush a strand of damp hair out of Jason's face and laughs at Jason's indignant huff. “And yet you keep taking jungle missions.”

Finally, Jason shifts enough so he can look Dick in the eye. Dick promptly breaks eye contact and lets his gaze wander across the glorious expanse of skin laid out before him. Jason squints, and Dick is pretty sure it's not just because of the dim light in the room. 

“Don't even think about it,” he warns, grabbing around for the sheet, and Dick doesn't buy for even a second that it only now occurred to him how he's naked and how that might have left the wrong impression. “I just want to sleep for a week. Go away.” 

“ _You're_ the one who just fell into _my bed_ ,” Dick points out, gleeful. “So if you're worried about your virtue tonight, _you_ go away.” 

He reaches out and slowly pulls the sheet away, tugging it out of Jason's reach. He takes his time; if he's really that adamant and not in the mood, Jason could halt him, take hold of the sheet and turn away, and Dick would let him sleep. But he doesn't; he keeps very still and surveys Dick with a thoughtful frown. 

“Turn around,” Dick says, one hand caressing the small of Jason's back. “Please.” 

Jason grunts, but he obeys, shifting onto his back, legs falling wide. He's nowhere near fully hard yet but he did start to fill, and Dick gives him a pointed glance and smirks. Laughing at the eyeroll Jason gives him in response, Dick crawls between Jason's legs and leans forward. He takes the base of Jason's cock in hand and swirls his tongue around the tip, savoring the low moan that it incites. Jason's eyes flutter shut and Dick doubles his efforts, sucking gently, tongue playing with the sensitive spot just below Jason's cockhead, fingers around the base forming a ring to jerk Jason off with in a small up and down movement of his hand. Jason's hips stutter, arching off the bed in sync with Dick's movements. He licks his lips and tries to thrust, a quiet complaint about Dick's teasing. 

“A minute ago you were shooing me off,” Dick admonishes between licks, his hand stilling, fingers fanning out against Jason's stomach to signal he rein himself in, stop moving. “And now you're impatient already.” 

“I still wanna sleep sooner rather than later,” Jason shoots back, and then hisses in surprised pleasure as Dick seals his lips around the head of his cock and swallows him down in one go. He works him with quick bobs of his head, fingers curled around the base to keep him at a good angle, thumbs pressing into the skin there as instinct and need win out again and Jason takes his attempts at thrusting back up. Dick swallows around him, a fair amount of practice allowing him to ignore and suppress his gag reflex, and he tastes the salty tang of Jason's precome. 

Dick comes off his cock with an intentional wet plop and runs the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe away the spit, a side-effect of enthusiastic blowjobs. No verbal complaint comes forth, but Jason glares at him. He looks beautiful, eyes wide and pupils blown, face heated with arousal. Dick smiles, sweetly, with a nod towards the bedside table. “Feel free to hurry things up any time you like.” 

“So that's how you're gonna play this?” Jason says, head cocked, tone kept level even though it's obvious to both of them how affected he is, how disheveled. “First you're not letting me sleep, and now you're also making me do all the work?”

Dick's enthusiastic nod in response is maybe a little immature, but it carries a purpose. He's angling for a specific kind of fuck at this point, one that plays on the fact that Jason's the one who's grown taller over the years, who outmatches Dick in sheer body mass. In the field, they're equals, Dick making up for that with speed and skill and experience, but here, in bed, during games like this, Jason possesses the brute strength to manhandle him whichever way he pleases and sometimes that's exactly what Dick craves the most. 

Sighing in a pretense of being long-suffering and put-upon, Jason reaches for the bedside drawer to retrieve lube and condoms. He then shoves at Dick to bend over, keeps pushing until he's got Dick on his arms and knees, face pressed to the mattress, legs spread, ass in the air, boxer briefs dragged down around his knees. 

Two well-lubed fingers push against Dick's hole at once, and he gasps, even knowing that it's an empty threat. Jason wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't be that forceful, and sure enough, a moment later a only single digit is carefully pressed past the ring of muscle, the second finger only added once Dick had ample time to get used to the intrusion. Though quick, Jason takes care to work him thoroughly and not cause him any pain. His pace is still unforgiving, the curl of his fingers inside Dick's body led by an intimate knowledge of what makes pleasure spike in Dick's veins and a determination to pay him back in kind for the aborted blowjob. 

Dick whines as Jason withdraws his fingers, only leaving the tip of one inside, keeping him spread open under Jason's gaze. 

“What should I do with you?” Jason muses, rubbing at Dick's sensitive, needy hole. Dick circles his hips by the way of a suggestion, and Jason tsks, stabbing his finger inside again deep enough to home right in on Dick's prostate. Thusly distracted, Dick doesn't notice how Jason moves in closer behind him until the latter removes his finger again and lines up, their thighs touching, cockhead dragging over Dick's hole. 

Dick reaches behind himself to claw at Jason, pull him closer still, prompt him to thrust inside, and he only realizes he walked straight into a trap when Jason captures his other arm as well, twisting it to the side, and pushes him further towards the edge of the bed so he overbalances and ends up flattened out against the mattress, held in place by the weight of Jason's body pressed against his back. 

“This okay?” Jason says, voice much gentler than before. 

“Yeah,” Dick confirms, the words muffled by fabric. He can't breathe right. He can't move. His erection is trapped against the mattress, out of reach for both of them. He's completely at Jason's mercy, and he's leaking a wet spot into the linen at the very idea of being helpless like this. 

Jason pushes Dick's left knee up as far as it goes, immobilizing Dick further while also giving himself better access, and then finally, _finally_ sinks into him. The position doesn't allow for a great range of movement on his part either, and so he doesn't, by design, have any other choice than fucking Dick at a glacial pace. He does, however, have enough leeway to make sure the angle is good, cockhead dragging along Dick's prostrate on every push and pull, while he nips and bites along Dick's neck and earlobe, whispering dirty suggestions and what-ifs at him. 

It's all nowhere near enough to get Dick off, but it's plenty sufficient to drive him out of his mind with mounting desperation. Dick is hyper-aware of his trapped cock, every slide against the linen a kind of slow torture; even the drag of his nipples against the fabric each time Jason drives into him becomes too much, another factor in propelling him higher and higher, his whole body singing with it, every point of contact too much and never enough, but his release stays firmly out of reach. 

“Jason, please,” he whimpers after another long and slow thrust, absolutely shameless about the raw need in his voice.

“Please what, baby?” Jason taunts, voice low and husky, warm breath spilling out directly against Dick's ear and making him shudder. “What do you want, hmm?”

“I want to come,” Dick manages to grit out. “ _Please._ ”

Jason likes to make him beg. Dick likes to make him work for it, but there's a limit to what he can take and they're about to reach that right now. He's high-strung, thrumming with desperation, feeling like he might burst apart at the seams if he doesn't get to come soon. 

“All you had to do was ask,” Jason says, brushing a kiss to Dick's jaw. 

He pulls out, and Dick doesn't even attempt to be of much help as Jason maneuvers him onto his back, slides the briefs down Dick's calves and tosses them away. He spreads Dick's legs and folds him nearly in half, ankles resting against Jason's shoulder. He pushes back in, impossibly deep, and sets an entirely different rhythm, hard and fast and unforgiving. 

Dick kind of wants to cry with relief, orgasm already pooling in the pit of his belly by the third or fourth thrust. He's so sensitive that even the accidental drag of his cock against Jason's stomach makes him wail. He debates getting a hand between them to touch himself, but decides against it; Jason deeply enjoys knowing that he's able to make Dick come on nothing but penetration, and Dick is all but there already anyway. 

He clings to Jason's back, nails raking down his skin, and comes with a deep, lewd moan, his cock effectively untouched. Jason meets his eyes with a smug grin, and speeds up his last few thrusts to tumble over the edge right after him. 

 

***

 

In the morning – read, about three hours later – Dick gently extracts himself from Jason's embrace. It's funny; for all that he's gruff and evasive about physical affection while he's awake, he seems to unconsciously seek Dick out as soon as they're asleep. Or maybe it's sad, rather than funny. Dick's pretty sure that particular issue isn't macho posing but something deeper and much more complex. He presses a kiss to Jason's forehead, eliciting a sleepy grunt, his heart full of fond affection as he gets out of bed. To avoid making a racket in the bedroom he takes his clothes with him into the living room as he goes and leaves Jason to keep snoozing by himself. It's far from the first time he stayed the night. Jason knows where the breakfast foods are – he did in fact buy most that aren't cereal – and how the stove works. If he so chooses he can stay here once he wakes up, or he can let himself out. 

For his part, Dick takes a quick shower, gets dressed and wolfs down a bowl of cereal, spoon in one hand while he scrolls through the messages on his phone with the other. Nothing of note, and nothing to keep him from his representative duties today. Dick Grayson, spoiled ward of Bruce Wayne, is set to visit a kid's shelter. Could be worse, surely; Dick doesn't mind charity work, and he does okay with children. He only minds the press conference that will follow after, the reporters, the cameras, the superficial questions.

He's halfway to the shelter when he feels his other phone, the one that's plain black and has a better firewall than most company computers, vibrate in his pocket. He steers his bike onto the shoulder and checks the message, reads it twice, and curses under his breath. First chance he gets, he switches lanes and heads back the way he came. 

He finds Jason already pacing in the hallway, and he can't decide whether he's glad he doesn't have to break the news or worried that Jason's mind has already spun too far in the time it took him to return home. The concern might be unfair; after all the days in which Jason was a loose cannon waiting for someone to stumble upon its trigger are long gone. But this isn't just any case. This goes right back to Jason's early days as Robin, to the first time he collided with the fact that even Batman can't save everyone. 

Back when Dick had moved into the Titans Tower and Jason had just begun riding the high of being _Batman's sidekick_ , a series of gruesome murders made headlines in Gotham. Someone kidnapped, tortured, and killed single parents, in more than one case leaving the victim's children orphaned and alone. The spree started in early summer, and by the time the joint efforts of the GCPD and Batman and Robin managed to pin down the culprit, a former beat cop called Gordon Hime, his body count hat risen to five women and two men from all over Gotham. 

And last night, Gordon Hime escaped from prison. Earlier this morning he sent an email to the Gotham Gazette that he intents to pick up where he left off. Everyone is on high alert. Jason starts pacing by Dick's front door the moment he mentions Hime's name, and Dick knows the chances of _keeping_ him here, convincing him to sit this one out, are slim to none. 

“Don't go alone,” Dick says, keeping his voice calm and even. He decides accompanying him is the best solution for the moment. He's reluctant to let Jason out of his sight right now, and it means he can do some damage control if needed. “Let me go with you.” 

Jason turns slowly, his eyes darting up to meet Dick's, like he's only now realized that he's not alone anymore. “Why? So you can make sure I don't shoot him on sight?” 

Dick almost flinches at the words. “No. Because you're on edge and it might not be the worst idea for someone to have your back.” 

The frown Jason sends his way means he considers that a feeble excuse at best, but he lets out a slow, measured breath and nods. “Fine. We start at his old hideout and go from there. Let's suit up.” 

 

***

 

In the years since Hime was caught, the building fell into disrepair. In this part of town, a murder or two in the building's history aren't a deterrent to future tenants, especially if they made news and that fact knocks a few dollars off the rent. But a bonafide serial killer, that's another matter. No one has lived here in years, and it shows: the front door is nailed shut with wooden planks, the stairway is littered with long-forgotten old clutter. More than once, mice run out of their path, squeaking in displeasure at being disturbed by their presence. There's a hole in the roof of the attic where Hime kept his victims, and dried leaves have been blown halfway down the last flight of stairs. The attic itself is slant-sided, with naked beams holding up the unclad roof construction. It seems strange that no one heard what Hime was up to in here, but Crime Alley isn't like the circus Dick grew up in. Its residents have always minded their own business, and strange noises in the attic could have meant anything from a new rodent infestation to wayward teenagers looking for some privacy. 

Dick won't judge. Still, his stomach turns when a sliver of leftover crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze catches his attention, when he spots the small puddle of blood and the faint chalk marks it once cordoned off from further interference. 

His attention on the evidence of past cruelties committed in this room, he doesn't pay attention to where he's stepping. His foot catches on something and he stumbles forward, reaching out towards one of the beams to regain his balance, and glances back to find out what tripped him up. 

There's a cable on the ground, the thick kind for outdoor use that comes with cable spools, plain black and almost invisible in the dim light. 

“Hey,” he says, nodding his head towards his discovery. “Look.” He picks the cable up and tugs, and something clatters in a corner of the room in response. 

Immediately, Jason walks over to him, covering his back like he would in the field, in an active crime scene. They follow the cable together, and at the end of it, they encounter a small generator and a coffee table with an old TV set, the kind they sold before flatscreens, complete with an integrated video tape player, red light at the bottom indicating that it's on standby. The remote control sits atop the TV, marked with neon yellow tape, the words _HIT PLAY_ written on it in capital letters. 

Dick looks at Jason over his shoulder. Jason nods, and Dick picks up the remote and does hit the play button. The screen flickers to life. It shows another room not unlike this one, windowless, abandoned, either another attic or a basement, but that one isn't empty. On a chair in the middle of the room sits a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, her clothes torn, her hands bound behind the back of the chair. She's gagged with a piece of cloth. Her face and upper body carry abrasions and bruises, and tear tracks have made a path down her dirty and bloodied face. Something is written on her forehead, smudged and almost indecipherable. 

Dick squints, but Jason figures it out before he does. 

“Number eight,” he reads, and his voice is flat and empty. With Jason, that means he's passed loud and brass anger, and traveled right into silent, dangerous rage. 

“We have to call the police,” Dick says, and he knows it's futile before the words have even made it past his lips. “Let them know what we found.” 

“Ah,” says Jason, snorting a laugh. “You mean the geniuses who let him escape in the first place? They won't find him. They hardly managed the first time.” 

“Come on,” Dick says, hating how much it sounds like he's begging. “You shouldn't be anywhere near this. Let them handle it. B as well, we can call him – “ 

Jason grimaces, a disdainful reaction to the mention of Bruce's name that he hasn't let show in a while. “As if he'd be able do what needs to be done when it comes to Hime.” 

Dick shakes his head. “We're not killing him. _You're_ not killing him. I won't let you. I won't allow it.” 

Whipping around on his heels to face Dick fully, Jason sneers. “First of all, you're in no position to tell me what I am or am not allowed to do. I'm not fifteen anymore. You're not in charge of me.” Dick opens his mouth for a reply, but Jason presses on. “And if it means we keep him from making it to nine victims, ten, or beyond, or even manage to save number eight, then hell yeah, maybe I should consider – ”

“If you kill him,” Dick interrupts, then pauses. 

His heart is beating in his throat. He's desperately reaching for something to say that will resonate, for something he can weigh up against Jason's willingness to put another death on his conscience. Something that will shock Jason back into the here and now, remind of the person he's become, and that nothing, not even stopping Hime for good, is worth throwing that away. The Jason that Dick has come to know so well, so intimately, that Dick loves in more way than one, isn't a killer. Not anymore. That's all in the past. He's different now... isn't he? 

“If you kill him,” Dick starts again. “Then we're over. I don't want to see you again. I don't care where you go, but it can't be Gotham.” 

Jason's eyes go wide. He glances at the woman on the TV screen, sobbing again in reaction to the words of someone just off-camera, then back at Dick, and his eyes narrow, expression hardening. 

“Fuck you,” he spits, and turns to leave. 

Dick steps into his path, and Jason shoves him out of the way, which Dick counters by grabbing a fistful of his jacket and using their combined momentum to make them both stumble to the ground. Jason lands on top of him. He's bigger and heavier than Dick, his sheer weight pinning Dick, and he doesn't hesitate to use that fact to his advantage. Boxed in by Jason's muscled thighs, Jason's feet lodged between his legs, he can't get enough movement to throw him off. He still struggles, trying to get hold of Jason's wrists, gain enough leverage so he can flip them. 

For a moment, Jason stares down at him, chest heaving, indecision and regret flickering across his face. Then he sighs, one arm reeling back to give the hit that follows enough force. Dick doesn't have room to evade the blow even though he sees it coming, and as soon as Jason's fist connects, Dick's world fades to black. 

 

***

 

Calling Tim feels like a betrayal. Involving another bat makes this family business, rather than something that happened between him and Jason, privately, never to be divulged to anyone else. But Dick is distressed, distracted, and his head is throbbing something fierce. He's pretty damn far from being at his best and there’s a life on the line. Two, maybe – if Jason executes Hime, he might also kill the person he’s become over the last couple of years. Dick might forgive him, eventually, but Bruce won’t, and that means he’ll be forced out of the family again. Everything will change. For Jason. For him. For the two of them, whatever that means.

They’re combing through Crime Alley, civvies worn over their suits so they won’t draw too much attention, and Dick is fully aware how futile this whole exercise is. There’s one thing Dick knows for sure: they aren’t going to find Jason unless Jason wants to be found. He’s always been able to hide within the fabric of the city, use Gotham itself as his cover, slip into nooks and crannies the rest of them don’t even know exist. He was born in Gotham’s underbelly and he knows it like the back of his hand. And yet, it beats sitting around and waiting until the discovery of Hime’s body hits the news. Dick won’t give up. There’s still a chance. They might still, through some miracle, find him in time.

Dick’s cellphone vibrates inside his pocket and he digs it out, exchanges a look with Tim before he unlocks the screen and reads the message. And for a second he can’t breathe, the echo of earlier in the day, of the news that Hime escaped and his subsequent concerns, hits him double.

It’s an address. Quite nearby, even. The number is anonymized, but it’s signed with “I have a present for you – RH”. Below that is a picture of Hime, bound to a chair like the victim in the video he himself broadcasted only hours ago, face bloody, head lolling lifelessly towards his chest. Dick closes his eyes and takes a breath, then looks at Tim again, showing him the screen.

Tim nods. They change direction. Dick lets Tim take point in finding the correct building, suddenly too tired to do anything else than put one foot in front of the other. He feels hollow. The inevitability of the situation weighs him down like a rock tied to his back.

They enter the building through a backdoor that opens into a long, dark hallway. A staircase lead into the basement, and as they round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, they can see the glow of a naked lightbulb in one of the compartments. Dick takes another deep breath and tries to prepare himself for what he’s about to see –

Someone’s screaming. Yelling, really, curses and complaints brought forth in a loud and scratchy voice, anger dripping from every word. Dick breaks into a run to reach the compartment, and then he’s staring at Hime, still bound to that chair, alive if a little beat up, and screaming bloody murder.

 

*** 

 

Jason sends Dick a text just as soon as he steps out of the GCPD headquarters, informing Dick that that he's waiting on the roof. Dick stares at the message, then glances up at the roof, and discards the idea of marching back inside and taking the stairs. A grapple is much faster, and he doesn't want to put this off. 

It’s a beautiful night, maybe an hour before sunrise, Gotham’s solemn silhouette backed by a clear dark blue sky. Jason leans on the edge of the door to the staircase, like he knew Dick would take the expressway. His arms are crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles. He's smirking, but there's absolutely zero humor in it. 

“You didn’t do it,” says Dick. He feels like it needs pointing out. Like he needs to let the words circle between them. 

“No.” Jason's posture remains unchanged; if anything, the hostile air he gives off intensifies. “I didn’t.”

He stares Dick down like he waits for a comeback, for another accusation. He came here braced for an argument, and Dick's heart sinks as he understands that this new rift between them won't be glossed over. They both said some harsh things, things that they didn't mean the way they came out – at least in Dick's case – but that aren't easy to take back. 

Jason starts tapping his foot on the ground. His expression turns expectant, impatient. He inclines his head and raises an eyebrow. He can't hold Dick's gaze for long; it keeps getting caught by the growing shiner on Dick's face, then falls to the side, just to return and stare a silent challenge at Dick. 

And then it clicks. Dick's stomach flips painfully, and he resists the urge to rub his temple against the sudden increase of that sharp, piercing headache. 

“You never planned to _kill_ him,” Dick says. 

Jason nods. “No,” he repeats, voice completely toneless. “I didn't. But you just assumed that's what I was going to do, that it'd be so easy for me to fall into old habits. As if the past two years meant jack shit, as if you and the family mean fuck all to me. As if I've just been playing pretend all this time. That's what you really think, isn't it? That I'm a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Poor Jason. He died, and he came back mad.” 

“That's not – “ Dick starts, but Jason cuts him off with a glare. 

“I can't change the past. But I thought I didn't need to anymore, that you and me...” Here his voice wavers slightly, but he reins himself back in almost right away. “I thought you trusted me, the way I trust you. But you don't. You still expect me to turn on a dime. You never trusted me to meet the standard you set, even when I was Robin. Jason, the street kid with no prior training or skills. Jason, the replacement that always stood in your shadow. You were perfect. I'm the fuck-up, the charity case. But you know what? I'm tired of it. I'm tired of you. Maybe it's a good thing this happened. At least we can both stop pretending.” 

Finally, Jason's stoic mask cracks a little, making way for sadness and disappointment. But there's something else, too. He turns his head, swallowing hard, sighing, and he looks... he looks _at peace_ , somehow, having said all that, and that might be what hurts the most. 

Every argument to take the wind out of his sails dies in Dick's throat. He can't fix this right now, and he doesn't want to set this conversation in a direction that brings any definite decisions. _We really are over. This isn't working. You gave up on me and I can't forgive you for that._

“I'm sorry,” Dick says instead, and Jason's gaze swings back to him immediately. He scoffs, pushes himself off the wall, and pulls his own grapple from his belt. 

Without another word, he shoots a line to the next building over. Dick stays rooted to the spot and watches him disappear into the night.


	2. JASON

As it turns out, avoiding the Bat posse – and one member in particular – is a perfectly viable plan as long as the world avoids teetering on the edge of destruction. And because they live in a world where that happens three to five times a year, it's a plan with an expiration date. 

The call comes in at 3 AM in... wherever they are this week, Jason hasn't been keeping track lately. They've been roaming around and he left the logistics to Artemis. She's taken to it like a fish to freshwater, and that's probably not surprising given that she was, in some way, raised and trained to potentially be a military leader. A fighter, a general, a strategist, someone whose purpose it is to protect her people. She just needed to get acclimated to the modern age first. 

He's woken by Bizarro's poking and shouting, both of which are probably intended to be gentle but really are _not_ , and he sits up on his cot with a groan. “'time's it?” Bizarro stares at him with wide eyes and Jason shakes his head, waves a hand. “Never mind. What's going on?” 

Artemis struts in behind him and nods her head towards the communication console in the other room of the bunker they've claimed as their current hideout. “I think it's best you listen for yourself. It's broadcasting on every frequency.” 

That doesn't sound good at all. 

Jason jumps off the cot, rushing to the console in boxers and t-shirt. The message is playing on loop, maybe fifteen seconds long, spoken in a dialect that is definitely not human, and while only half of it makes sense the part that _is_ understandable sounds distinctly like a threat. A big one. A global one. 

Jason sighs at the console, closes his eyes for a second while scrubbing a hand down his face, and then heads back to his cot, to his bag, and gets out the ever-so-subtle bat-shaped communicator he hasn't touched in weeks. 

“Red Hood here, anyone listening?” he says as soon as the crackle tells him he's got a connection, long-distance and frail as it might be; it is Wayne tech, after all. “Are we doing anything about the alien army wanting to shoot us off our own planet yet?” 

The response is swift and unemotional, and there was a time when Jason would have been bothered by that. “We're about to formulate a response,” Bruce says, sounding like he's discussing Sunday family dinner plans with the wayward son who hasn't actually showed up since three Christmases ago. “I'm sending you coordinates. Be there as quickly as you can if you want to help.” 

 

***

 

Aforementioned coordinates send them across the pond, towards a meeting point in the Alps. The scenery is quite nice when they descend, mountains with white capes and lush trees way down below in the valleys, and their exit from today's stolen plane is marked by Bizarro ohhing and awwing about the snow. Artemis, for her part, subtly frowns at it. Probably not an uncommon reaction, for someone who grew up in a desert. 

They don't have much time to get acclimated, however, because now that they're on the ground it's hard to miss that the seemingly peaceful and untouched piece of nature is indeed buzzing with activity, and it's never a good sign when agents from various shadowy government organizations and the high-and-mighty hero crowd works hand in hand. Jason makes a note to try and get Bizarro a meeting with the original Superman once this is all over, and then steels himself and scans the place for any signs of the Bats. The first one he spots, deep in a very animated discussion with one of the Lanterns, is Tim. Not his first choice, but also currently not the worst option, and so Jason nods towards Bizarro and Artemis and stalks over to him. He's so deeply distracted that he doesn't notice them until Jason puts a hand on his shoulder from behind. 

“You should really pay more attention to what's going on around you, Timbers,” Jason says, and Tim slowly turns, glaring at him. “Never know when some undesirables are gonna sneak up on you, and some of them, unlike me, these days, might be out to get you.” 

Tim rolls his eyes at him and sighs. “The world must really be ending if _you_ show up voluntarily.” 

“Yep,” Jason confirms, shrugging his shoulders, then nods towards his friends. “Outlaws reporting for duty.” 

There's a grimace and a sigh, and Jason thinks he hears him grumble _”outlaws”_ under his breath, rather unfavorably, but Tim points at a tent a few hundred meters away, surrounded by old pines. “Batman's in there, setting up a strategic unit with some of the others. I suggest you report there.” 

Jason mock-salutes, earning himself another eyeroll, and marches off. The look Bruce sends him when he marches into the tent should probably be insulting, a combination of pleased and surprised, like he didn’t really expect Jason to show up. His gaze roams over Jason’s company, but he doesn’t comment on either of them. Instead he straightens up from his console and quirks an eyebrow.

“Where do you want us?” Jason asks, deciding that this is the wrong place for their usual back and forth. They’re here to help. He’ll give the Bat the attitude he so richly deserves some other time.

“The creatures have invaded a science lab in the mountains,” Bruce says, distasteful frown on his face. “Something ARGUS cooked up, or stored, they’re not forthcoming with information. Either way, if it gets in the wrong hands, we could be facing an extinction event.”

Well that explains why everyone’s grouping together in the _Alps_ of all places, and why there’s so many shady agent characters roaming about. “So we go in and – “

“Help evacuate the scientists,” Bruce interrupts, and if Jason didn’t know him better he’d swear there was the smallest hint of a satisfied smile on his face. But it’s Bruce, so of course that has to be his own bias. Probably. Maybe.

Jason turns to Artemis and Bizzaro. “Ready to save a few nerds?”

Artemis shrugs like all this is somehow beneath her anyway, and Bizzaro gives him a thumbs up, which he then extends to a perpetually unimpressed Bruce. Jason gives him one back, but Bizarro’s face falls after he garners a complete no-reaction from the Bat. Jason kind of wants to whip up an argument just for that, but, priorities. World-saving first. Daddy issues later.

He does stay behind when the other two file out and looks around to make sure no one’s in earshot, because there’s one more question on his mind. “Uhm, B?”

Bruce looks up again from the console, where he’d already returned his attention. “Yes?”

“Is Di– I mean, Nightwing part of the evacuation efforts?” Jason asks, and resists the urge to look away when Bruce frowns at him. Without the whole story, it might sound petty. In fact, even with the whole story it would probably still sound rather insignificant, considering the threat they’re facing. But Dick would mean a distraction, would lead his thoughts away from the situation at hand, and it _is_ better for everyone involved if that doesn’t happen.

“He’s on the other side of the mountain,” Bruce says with a sigh, his head cocked. There was never a chance he’d ask what’s going on between the two of them, but Jason is relieved nevertheless. “Running recon with Robin and the Flash.”

Jason nods a thanks and gives him the same exaggerated salute that he already used to annoy Tim, and then he turns and jogs out of the tent to catch up with Artemis and Bizzaro.

 

***

 

From the outside, nothing would give away the fact that the rock formations and snowy forest hides a secret underground lab, which is probably the point but also moot right now, because there’s nothing secretive or subtle about the flock of alien creatures that are circling around the mountain, setting up machinery, and communicating among each other with loud clicking sounds. Part of Jason wants to snap a quick video and ask Kori later if she knows how to translate those sounds, find out whether they’re making evil plans or just chatting about tomorrow’s dinner, but his professionalism wins out over his morbid curiosity. Right now it’s their job to stay way out of the creatures’ sight and make sure every innocent and only slightly evil human being still in the lab makes it out alive and gets to safety. They’re not alone in it either; Cassandra and Stephanie are already here, and a few local policemen gather up the small but steady trickle of personnel that exits the mountain. About fifty people at this point, most of them are wearing suits or lab coats, but there’s also the more mundane employees, cooks and janitors and the cleaning squad. 

There are jeeps and small buses waiting to cart them all away, and if it weren’t for said aliens and the strange setting, this would look like a regular bomb threat evacuation. Maybe that’s going to be the cover-up later; no aliens whatsoever, just someone threatening to blow stuff up and taking the piss by pretending they are creatures from outer space involved. The hilarious thing is that might even fly; no one _wants_ to confront the fact Earth could be little more than a small, vulnerable planet that some races consider to be backwards and up for grabs. All the small employees standing here in the snow will get a lifetime sum in order to ensure their silence, the scientists will move on to another lab on another continent, and everyone else will go to work on Monday morning like nothing ever happened.

Artemis jabs Jason in the ribs, tearing him from his thoughts. “I suggest you introduce us to the other… _Bats_ ” – and here she sneers because apparently even an ancient warrior from a mythical faraway land has enough common sense that the concept of people dressing up like a tiny cave animal and playing vigilante seems fishy to her – “so we can quit standing around and start doing something useful.”

“Good thought,” Jason says, giving one last glance to the alien workforce on the other side of the mountain, trying not to think about whether or not that’s the _other side_ where Dick will be sniffing around and getting all up in the alien’s business. “Let’s go do that.”

Cass smiles at him through her mask when they walk up to her and Steph, and Steph braces her arms on her hips and grins. He still doesn’t know what he did to win the girls’ good graces – maybe it’s the constant snarking at their fearless, grumpy leader – but he’s not about to complain. “Now look at that, Black Bat. Our reinforcements are here.”

“Yup,” Jason says, grinning back. “So where do we start?”

“We’ve started hours ago,” says Steph, but her tone makes it good-natured, friendly teasing, rather than an attack. “When _someone_ , I assume, was still blissfully clueless and scratching their balls at the breakfast table or something.” Then her expression turns serious, and she points at a jeep parked a little further into the forest. “We need to get the head scientist out of here. She seems like a bit of a bitch, honestly, and I’d have a few things to say about even pursuing a project like this, but we’ve been told she’s the only one who can come up with counter measures if that thing goes live.”

Jason chooses not to ask what _that thing_ is, in detail. Potentially able to blow the planet back into the paleolithic age is all the information he needs for the moment. Plus, if he really gets curious, or if it becomes relevant, he’ll be with the single best person to explain it to him, so asking for an explanation from another layman seems a bit pointless. He reprises his favorite the-opposite-of-respectful salute for a third time and heads off in the direction of the jeep. 

 

***

 

It's a good thing Jason's not afraid of heights, because the winding roads down the mountain are narrow, seamed by rugged stone walls on one side and yawning chasms on the other. The journey is slow, and the worst thing is that the narrow space means they're left without an escape route or much room to fight. He bites his lips all the way down, and only breathes once they're on a large, expansive motorway, blending into a constant stream of other cars and trucks. Not for long, however. 

Jason sits in front with the soldier who's driving the jeep, and he catches the maneuver as it forms. Three cars, all sleek black limousines, edging them in. Not the kind of threat he expected – he was more prepared for aliens just kind of jumping them – but he's flexible. He can adapt. He shouts a quick command to the back, telling Artemis to get ready and Bizzaro to shield the scientist, and then he grabs the steering wheel from the driver and makes a hard right, onto the grass-covered shoulder, and yells at her to floor it. She stares at him in stunned disbelief for a fraction of a second, but then she recovers and tears through the trees off the side of the motorway and into unknown terrain. He's got no idea where they're going, and that's not ideal. It also means their pursuers don't have either, though, so that's a good thing, especially combined with the fact that theirs is the vehicle better suited for this terrain. 

They aimlessly rattle through the tree line and onto a field for a few minutes, being chased. He's not all that surprised to find their communications down, both his comm link and the jeep's radio. Jammer, he assumes. But that's okay. Something tells him their pursuers are human, and he's got a superman clone and an amazon with him. It'll work out. 

He doesn't expect the explosion, and while his ears are still ringing, someone behind him is screaming, and for a few seconds, he looks around, confused, and half-expects to find the back of the jeep on fire. It only dawns on him slowly that the sound came from too far away, somewhere behind them, and when the second explosion happens he recognizes the style. Bat-issue. Mostly for show. Makes for a huge bang, but hardly lethal. He looks around and there they are; Dick and the demon brat, all decked out in costume, perched on a nearby tree and throwing around what amounts to sophisticated smoke bombs. 

Jason turns around, tells the scientist to stop screaming, those are their cavalry, it's fine, they're being _rescued_. Then he instructs the driver to slow down, find a way out of this forest, and resigns himself to his fate. Would have been asking too much, of course, to not have to go world-saving with the ex. 

 

*** 

 

The hotel is a bit of a stopgap solution. They still don't really know who came after them out there, communication is still jammed, and they need to go _somewhere_. It's not even really a hotel; it's got five rooms and a breakfast room downstairs and there's a note at the front desk that says the owner leaves at 9 PM and comes back at 7 AM. If there are any issues in the meantime may the guests please call the following cell number. Said owner speaks broken English, and looks a bit suspiciously at Jason and the trembling scientist, the two among them who raise the least amount of suspicion. They let the rest in through the backdoor once they've taken their rooms – save for Damian, who gets sent off to report back to daddy – and then it's time for a perimeter check and setting up traps and alerts. 

It's hardly a fortress, but hopefully it'll do for the night. 

Altogether they occupy three rooms: the scientist with Artemis – for protection – and the driver, then one for Jason and Bizarro, and an extra room he booked for Dick because spending the night with someone he spent months avoiding is not on his to-do-list for today, and hey, they rented the whole building out for safety reasons anyway. The thing is, Dick is not yet aware of that fact. He trudges into _Jason's_ room as if he owns the place, flops down on one of the beds and immediately starts pulling off his boots, and Jason levels him with a glare. 

“What do you think you're doing?” 

Dick straightens back up, one boot in hand. “Uhh, what does it look like? It's been a long day. I'm gonna take a shower.” 

“Then do that in your room,” Jason snaps, chucking the third room key at him. 

Dick catches the key, then looks up, frowning. “I'm exiled?” 

“Well I thought you'd like to hole up with the demon spawn, before he fluttered off.” The explanation is kind of thin, but Dick should catch the hint. Hurting his feelings is a non-issue at this point; Jason already broke up with him and went radio silent, so this is hardly the biggest transgression he's committed so far. “Now, congratulations, you have a room all to yourself. You can shower there, and then enjoy having some alone time. Hey, maybe they'll even have some fancy Lederhosen porn on the adult entertainment channels.” 

On the last few words, Bizarro turns, thoughtful crease to his brows, and Jason is so not in the mood to find out which term he's about to demand an explanation for. He holds up a hand. “Not now, big guy. I'll tell you about the birds and the bees some other time.” 

That earns him an abashed blink, and yeah, Jason shouldn't be continuing his war of the roses in front of one of the few truly innocent souls left on this planet. He strides to the bed and all but hauls Dick to a stand, then shoves him out of the room with a reassuring smile back over his shoulder to Bizarro. 

Dick turns and shakes his grip off once they're in the hallway, takes a look at the room key, and marches ahead to the right door, unlocks, pushes it open, switches the light on, and nods for Jason to walk into the room. He throws it closed with more force than strictly necessary once they're both inside, and yeah, Jason kind of deserves that. 

“Okay,” he says, in that calm, inflection-less tone he has that, to Jason, has always been worse than most people's raised voices. “I gave you space. I think I've been pretty patient, and it's okay if you still think we're better off on our own. But I don't deserve to be talked to like that.” 

He's not wrong. He doesn't. It's just that staying away is so much easier when Jason can tell himself he's angry at him, has many reasons to be pissed at him. Conjuring those up, however, is a lot harder to do when he's staring into those blue eyes, reflecting all the rejection and hurt and confusion Jason put there. 

“I'm sorry, alright?” he says, voice small even though he wants to shout, yell, make _Dick_ angry so he'll walk away first this time. 

“Can't you just talk to me?” Dick asks, and no, no, Jason can't. Not to him. Not about this. He shakes his head, but Dick doesn't give up. “We can figure this out, I know we can. But I can't change anything if I don't know what's going on.” 

He's closer now than he was before, approaching Jason while neither of them were paying attention, and Jason's gaze falls to his lips. There's something else they could be doing, something that doesn't involve so much talking, and all of a sudden Jason wants him so much it nearly fells him, makes him double over. Forbidden fruit and all, even sweeter a thought now that he's denied himself the indulgence for so long. 

Jason looks back up and their eyes meet, and from there it's instinct, desire, an automatic response. He herds Dick against the wall and Dick wraps his arms around his neck. They're kissing, Dick pressed against him, rolling his hips just so, and Jason barely has the wherewithal to lock the door before he pushes Dick onto the bed. Dick grins up at him and is already reaching for the hem of his suit, pulling the upper half off over his head and throwing it away, and Jason kneels before him, tugging on the lower half to get that out of the way as well. Then he himself strips to his boxers and climbs on the bed to straddle Dick. He kisses him again, a few notches dirtier than before, and reaches between them so he can sneak a hand into Dick's underwear, pull it down to free his cock. He finds him already hard and it nearly knocks the wind out of him, makes it incomprehensible how he managed to deny himself the pleasure of being near Dick, feeling him, tasting him, touching him. They don't have the patience or the time for anything else, and he slowly runs his fingers over the hot, velvety skin, already getting slick near the tip. He's determined to make the most out of this; take everything he can get, everything Dick will give him, and make the memory a good one. 

With that in mind, he straightens up so he's sat on his haunches, towering over Dick. He takes in the sight, lets his eyes rake over Dick's body, the hard cock straining against the flat plane of his stomach, the light but perfect build of his chest, and then leans in further so he can capture Dick's mouth in another kiss. Dick meets him willingly, as beautifully responsive as Jason remembers him: a slight blush high on his cheeks, his breathing already labored when he sighs into the kiss, at the same time using what leverage he has to move his hips, push up against Jason's lax grip. And Jason doesn't plan on refusing him; he curls his hand around Dick's cock, giving him something tight to push _into_ instead, and Dick moans, the noise swallowed by Jason's lips still sealed to Dick's own. Jason, for his part, is torn between wanting to hear him, add a soundtrack to this memory in the making, and the knowledge that the walls in here aren't thick enough to grant them any sort of privacy. 

His hand stills, and he breaks the kiss, sitting back up. Dick blinks at him, face set in a disapproving frown. “Why'd you stop?” 

“Because I'm the one who'll have to endure weeks, maybe months of teasing if you can't keep fucking quiet,” Jason says, and his voice is too uneven to pull off a casual, flippant tone. His gaze falls down to Dick's lips, kiss-swollen and wet with spit, and that doesn't help much either. “So you better give it the good college try, or I'll do it for you.” 

Dick's breath hitches, eyes going wide. But he quickly covers that up – whatever it was, shame, arousal, maybe a bit of both – and gives Jason a lewd smirk. “Is that a threat or a promise?” 

Instead of a reply, Jason begins jacking him again, and this time in earnest. His grip is tight, rough, the pace unforgiving. Dick sucks his lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it hard enough that Jason can see it going pale. He shifts. Whether that move is supposed to get him closer or an attempt to get away is anyone's guess, and Jason decides he doesn't care. Right now, Dick himself probably couldn't answer that question, and Jason won't stop unless he outright complains. 

Except that's when Dick reaches out for him, brushing his thigh, and for the split-second it takes him to resurface from the haze, gather his thoughts and meet Dick's eyes, Jason worries he's already gone too far. But Dick is smiling, and once he sees that he's got Jason's attention, he points towards his suit, on the ground by the bed. 

“My wallet, in the belt,” he says, holding Jason's gaze as if to make sure he's understood, that Jason will catch his meaning. “There's lube in there.” 

“If I've been going too hard – “ Jason starts, but Dick cuts him off, shaking his head. 

“No,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed, impatient. “No, it was perfect. But I... I want more.” 

And because words are hard right now, for both of them, require too much coherent thought, Dick seems to deem it necessary to be a little more demonstrative. He rolls onto his side, and in a move that's much too graceful for the situation, he strips off his boxers completely. Then he lowers himself further towards Jason, his legs encircling Jason's waist, one arm thrown over his face, the other closing over the hand Jason has still, dumbly, wrapped around his cock. 

He takes in a deep breath, cock twitching under their combined touch, and licks his lips. “What I want is for you to finger me while I jerk myself off. Can we do that? Is that okay with you?”

Like Jason's own earlier, his voice is too thready, too breathless to sound cocky or authoritative. And like Dick just now, Jason settles on show rather than tell. He leans forward, thereby spreading Dick's leg further in order to accommodate him, and fishes around for Dick's suit without ever breaking eye contact. It makes fumbling around to retrieve said wallet a little more awkward, but Jason is willing to put up with that if it means he can watch how the blush on Dick's faces deepens, how the bratty, imperious demeanor melts away as Jason holds up the small sachet of lube and makes a show of ripping it open. He can hear more than see that Dick takes up pumping his own cock again, and the aborted groan that Dick emits when Jason trickles the lube over Dick's balls and taint, without first warming it up, is nothing short of delicious. 

“C'mon.” Dick lifts his ass, as much as possible, his legs tightening around Jason's waist. “Get on with it.” 

Jason takes a moment to just stare and press his palm to the base of his own cock, then rubs his fingers down Dick's perineum, ostensibly to gather up the lube, but with enough pressure to make it another tease. By the time he finally deigns to push in the first finger, Dick is cursing, low and under his breath and presumably to keep himself from moaning. A small tremor ripples through his whole body, and it culminates, then ceases, when Jason adds a second and feels around for that little bump inside him. Despite his earlier intentions, Dick's hand on his cock comes to a halt, and after a moment's hesitation, he gives up on that altogether and stretches both hands out above his head, crossed where they're meeting the headboard of the bed. His whole body moves with the rhythm of Jason's fingers, now; he's got his lip between his teeth again and his eyes are screwed shut. 

To keep him from moving, keep him focused on nothing else than the pressure inside him, Jason presses his free hand to Dick's hip, thumb brushing taut skin. “Look at me,” he demands. “I want to see your expression when I make you come, I want to see the effort it'll take you to keep from screaming out in pleasure. We both know how much you like being loud.” 

Dick's eyes flutter open, and Jason can tell he's holding his breath when their eyes meet, another measure against getting noisy: moaning and whining and crying out obscenities instead of whispering them. Another rub against his prostate, sharp, just like that, and then Jason can feel Dick's stomach muscles contract under his touch, tears his eyes away from Dick's face in order to watch him come, paint his stomach with pearly white stripes. He keeps going until Dick is done, spent cock twitching, chest and abdomen heaving with aftershocks. 

Jason removes his fingers and, just because he can, brushes the heel of his hand over Dick's cock, teasing the oversensitive head. Instantly, Dick bites down on his lip, glaring daggers. Grinning back at him, Jason snakes the other hand, sticky with Dick's come, down his own boxers and wraps it around his neglected cock. He makes quick work of it; mechanically relieving a physical need, his gaze spinning back and forth between Dick's face, flushed red, and the mess on his stomach. He comes into his own cupped hand, within minutes, almost there already from watching Dick's climax and seeing him laid out like that. 

Still breathing a little too fast, Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and then props himself up on his elbows. He smiles, which looks spectacular on him right now; happy and alive and so strikingly _beautiful_. “Do you plan on letting me up so I can wash this off, or are you just gonna keep staring at me?” 

“Do I actually get to pick one?” Jason shoots back. “Because in that case...” 

Dick rolls his eye and twists his hips around, swinging both legs to the side; a needlessly acrobatic move that means Jason doesn't _have_ to let him go. There's a metaphor in there, and with that thought comes an avalanche of others, most of them reminding him that he doesn't get to have this anymore. That he gave up. That he himself made the decision to leave. 

He sits up and watches Dick rummage for his boxers – the same ones, because even bat utility belts don't have enough room for extra underwear – and, once Dick has disappeared into the bathroom, starts collecting his own clothes. He can't exactly run far, but nothing good is going to come out of staying here. 

He's just slipping into his boots when the bathroom door opens, Dick marching out on a cloud of steam, and shit, Jason didn't even pay attention to shower ceasing to run. It takes him roughly three seconds to parse the situation, Jason's attempted – and almost sort of successful – love 'em and leave 'em. 

“Where do you think you're going?” he says, somehow pulling off a rather impressive glare despite the fact that he's in nothing but boxers and his hair is sticking up in all directions. Learned from the best there; Bruce is also able to look intensely menacing in, like, a bathrobe and slippers. Jason can attest to that. He got a sermon or two with that exact setup. 

Jason shrugs. “Across the hallway. I gotta explain to a Superman clone twice my size how the birds and the bees work, and how sometimes two bees decide to ignore the flowers altogether and shack up with one each other instead.”

“Cute,” Dick says. “Now sit the fuck down and _talk to me_.” 

Just to be contrary, leave him guessing for a moment and ignore the request in some small way, Jason finishes lacing up his boots. He eyes the door. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. But he’s also far less sure now that he wants to keep running away from Dick.

With a deep sigh, he runs a hand down his face and sits back down on the bed. He looks up at Dick, meaning for it to be cocky, a demand for Dick to get this couples therapy session started. The attempt is there, even though Dick knows him well enough that he’ll see through it and recognize the nervousness underneath.

“I’m truly sorry for assuming the worst of you,” Dick starts. He hefts the towel up higher on his waist and sits down as well. “I just… I guess I wanted to protect you from yourself. I thought that’s what I was doing. But I guess I forgot that you never really needed my protection anyway.”

Jason smiles at him, a sad smile, and shakes his head. The best of intentions, but he still doesn’t get it. Not all the way. How could he? He’s always been the golden boy, the perfect example, even during the teenage rebellion that gave Jason a shot at being Robin in the first place.

“That’s bullshit,” Jason says, but not harshly. It’s a statement, not an accusation. “Trying to stop me with Hime wasn’t about protecting me. It was about protecting everyone else _from_ me, and hey, I understand. I do. Neither of us can erase the memories from when I first came back, wanting nothing but… not revenge, really, but wanting to see that someone to cared.” Dick opens his mouth, and Jason waves him off. “By now I know that you did. No need to say it. And that’s not what this is about, anyway.”

After a pause, Dick asks, low and sounding like he's not looking forward to the answer, “So then what _is_ it about? Trusting you?”

“Yes.” Jason sighs. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He doesn't know whether to look Dick in the eye or look anywhere, everywhere else. “And no. In a way it's even worse that it's you and me. I mean, you’re a very hard act to follow. You set impossible standards, for yourself, for everyone else. I was doomed to fail, back then, as a kid, trying to be you and trying to be something entirely different at the same time.” He inhales and kneads his thighs with the heels of his hands, needing a sensory distraction, something to keep him calm and keep his mind from racing. “But now we are… We were in a relationship. We should have been _equals_ , and we were, away from the job. And yet as bats, neither of us can shed our skin. You’re the gold standard. I’m the wayward son. And the thing with Hime... it hurt, you know? For so many reasons, and feeling like you didn't trust me is only one of them.”

Dick looks solemn, head bowed. He seems to actually roll all that over in his head, although Jason's glad to find no ache or anger in his expression. “There’s so much history between us,” he says eventually. “It had to escalate and throw a wrench into things sooner or later. I guess we have some work and a couple more hard, honest conversations ahead of us in order to make this work.” And suddenly he looks unsure, carefully glancing back up to meet Jason's eyes. “Do you still _want_ to make it work?” 

Jason glances up to the ceiling and lets out a long, slow breath. The bruise that Dick dealt him still smarts, and a part of him wants to opt for the easy way out and tell Dick that they'll never figure this out. That there's _too much_ history, and that whatever they had isn't worth all that effort. But that would be a lie. He looks at Dick, his face so open, reflecting fear and hope and everything in between, and he feels a warmth spread through his chest that he never felt with anyone else. 

He smiles, and leans in to kiss Dick in answer. 

And then the parameter alarm blares, so loud and sudden that it makes both of them flinch in surprise. 

 

***

 

The aliens run in the backdoor, and Jason would take a minute to laugh about that if Dick and him weren't so busy picking their clothes off the floor to get presentable. Dick needs a full two minutes to locate his domino – one day Jason will teach him not to spread his clothes where they fall – and then they're in the hallway, joining the commotion. 

Artemis is shepherding their charge towards the main entrance, Bizzaro in front, and sends Jason an accusing glare and a disdainful frown, which, if Jason interprets things correctly, in combination mean she's asking what the hell took him so long, but also informing him she needs him as much as lion needs a tutu. 

She does seem to have things covered on her end, though, so Jason winks at her, producing an eyeroll and some whispered profanity, but also a nod, and she continues on her merry way. Jason snaps his fingers to draw Dick's gaze and points to the opposite end of the hallway. 

“Ready for some encounters of the third kind?” he asks, grinning. 

Before Dick gets around to a rejoinder, they hear another crash from the direction of the alien attack. Seconds later, that's followed by the familiar yelling of the youngest bat – almost as loud as his father's but not nearly as booming yet, what with the lack of a manly timbre. Which, give him a few years and a proper vocal change. He'll get there. 

Dick frowns in a way that only people tasked with a raising a child for any given stretch of time are capable of, in the exact moments said child is being a reckless little shit. “Let's kick some alien ass,” he announces. “And make sure Robin doesn't try to fight a whole group of 'em on his own.” 

Jason nods, hauling Dick close for a brief-and-dramatic kiss just because he can – now, again – and then he charges into the fray with Dick right at his heels.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


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